Tuesday, March 29, 2011

It's funny how the world changes when you are sick...

Suddenly out of nowhere, it appears! A wild flu bug with it's big vampire fangs and slimy feet. At least that's how I see it from my flu-addled brain. Somehow colors are suddenly too bright...bananas are neon yellow and glowing like bars of uranium, oranges are well, orangey-er, and lights are my dearest enemy. The TV screams at me at any volume...I consider watching it like deaf people, on closed caption. And worst of all, I have become a screaming, crying, pooping, puking monster. All of the bits of evil that are normally dispersed in little clumps throughout my body fling themselves together and create SuperBitch. I really don't mean to be, but come on, I need a foot rub and I need it NOW.

Mr. Kat Lady can't hold it against me too much though, because he's just as bad when he's sick. He likes to give me pointers that he uses when he's sick. One in particular I tried today was a spectacular failure. He suggested I take a walk and maybe the fresh air would help. I'm sure if it was more than 40 degrees out it would have. I stumbled along, dazed by the overwhelming sounds and colors. A car honked...I jumped and then cried a little as my head pounded the rhythm section of some Queen song. A cop actually slowed down to watch me walk. I think he may have thought I was drunk. Wouldn't that have been fun...stopped for possible public drunkeness and forced to take a sobriety test when I was dizzy. I could be writing you from jail right now...lol. I decided that next time I'll just take a bath and go back to bed.

The cats sense that I'm sick too. Every five minutes or so one will paw up to me, meow, and then look at his or her food bowl. Maybe they're just hungry. I decided to pry myself out of bed and feed them. BIG mistake. Fed cats are hyper cats. All three began chasing each other around the room in some ridiculously loud and obnoxious game of tag. I could deal with that, they'd eventually wear themselves out, right? No. Suddenly I was a mountain that every one of them had to jump on, run down and vault over. Yes. I was effectively a puking kitty jungle gym. Don't get me wrong, I love them, and I'm happy they are healthy, but I may have timed my hurling so I just might hit one of them once....I missed, thank god. After my attempt, my brain realized that had I hit him with my timed "upburst" I would have had a vomit missile flying around the house.

I decided to make pancakes as a way to distract myself and maybe settle my stomach. I really didn't feel like measuring, so I just added pancake mix to the water until the texture was right...I made like 30 pancakes. There's no way I can eat 15 pancakes by myself, so Mr. Kat Lady better be hungry when he gets home.

Laters Peeps...
-Kat Lady

Watching the bear sleep...

Anyone who's met Mr. Kat Lady knows that when he sleeps...he SLEEPS. He has slept through everything from tornado sirens going off (across the street!) to EMTs, policemen, and firemen tromping OVER him when I had my heart attack. They actually checked to make sure he was breathing and it wasn't carbon monoxide poisoning. Yeah, he sleeps deeply. However I must say, even though he is closing in on 29, he sleeps like a little boy. A snoring, grunting, sleep speaking little boy.

Mr. Kat Lady is what I like to call a "cuddle-humper." He will grab the nearest warm object and scoot (hump) himself forward until it is firmly ensconced in his arms. This is all well and good unless you are a "splay" sleeper like me. I sleep on my back, arms over my head and legs splayed. Kinda like someone dumped me out of a bucket of paint and I just landed like that. I'm not really a cuddler, unless it's cold. Throw 2 or blankets on me and I'm good. Trap me in a "cuddle prison" and I can't sleep for the life of me. Every time I move to release myself, there he goes again. Cuddle, cuddle, hump, hump, whimper, stuck again. I've found that if I very slowly replace myself with a pillow, I am free to sleep unhindered. I'm sure this process looks very much like a fish trying to escape a squid's tentacles. If he feels you struggling to release yourself he unconsciously wraps his legs around your lower body. Then you might as well try to get comfortable, because you aren't going anywhere until he wakes up. I however usually end up wearing myself out and waking up with various sore muscles and such because he's too adorable to move.

Sometimes he talks. Usually it's a running commentary of his dreams. So far I've heard him tell me to leave him alone, he's painting the fence, or to let him out of the closet (umm....hmm....what was THAT dream about...) or him just mumbling randomness. If his dream-speech is coherent enough, sometimes I can have conversations with him in his sleep. Very rare, but hilarious when it happens. My friends Owl and Princess have both been around to hear it. Well, I must go for tonight, as I have to wake Mr. Kat Lady from his nap. See ya on the flip side
-Kat Lady